Excerpts from Magister Friyah’s ‘Compiled Notes on the Forgotten Lectures.’

“...and so it was that I met a strange fellow, whose appearance and demeanour I can scarcely recall, who offered to sell me the secrets of power for a pittance. Though the image of the one who offered has slid from my mind like fine sand through my fingers, their words are like a nostalgic memory, resting peacefully in the back of my skull to be dredged up by some familiar phenomena.

“‘There’s no real trick to it,’ that silver-tongued vendor assured me, ‘Just open the book. Ah—first, my price. Just a small thing, you’ll barely miss it. No stealing of souls or something heinous like that! Do you take me for a villain? I am a vendor of knowledge—I only seek its propagation.’

“A most tempting offer, of course, but my faith was too strong to be dissuaded. As we all know, there is no short path to power. In that regard, let us open our prayer books to…”

The book in Yenna’s hand was rather unusual, even discounting the manner of its discovery. It was bound in a curious black metal, glossy and reflective, with an extremely subtle and complicated design snaking all across the surface. Yenna could only see the design where the reflection caught it, and her fingernails could catch ever so slightly in the patterns. A clasp that attached to the back of the tome prevented its opening, locked with a magical seal as well as a physical lock—somehow, Yenna doubted she could force the thing open.

“This is the book I told you about,” Yenna showed the group. “The priest was holding it, and it seemed like this would solve their need to rely on Demvya’s blessing.”

Looking down at the tome, Yenna couldn’t help but be lost in curiosity. The curiosities regarding the fate of the people of the valley suddenly paled in comparison to the mysteries likely contained in this book. What did it have within that drove the people to physically remove the spirit that blessed their lands? Did it have something to do with the stagnant local magic? Why couldn’t she just get it to open—

“Yenna!” A strong hand roughly shook the mage’s shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. Yenna looked up to see Eone’s face, the captain bent down slightly to lock eyes with her. Yenna felt a tinge of pain in her hands—she had been trying to pry open the lock, holding the sides of the book in a white-knuckled grip that had caused her to cut open her skin on the tome’s sharp edges. A flush of embarrassment welled up in her—she had just been so curious about its contents.

“Is something wrong?” Narasanha perked up out of interest for the commotion, only for Eone to wave her off.

“Our mage just got a bit excited, I think. Isn’t that right?” Eone smiled in a way that would have knocked the concerns right out of Yenna’s heart, had it not been wholly out of character for her to be so obsessed. A mage was defined by their self-control. To suddenly be completely taken in by a sealed book felt preposterous.

“There’s something wrong with this tome. I need to take it to Demvya.” Yenna’s blood-drained face was all the convincing the captain needed—she stepped back and released the mage’s shoulder. Yenna took an uneasy step towards the entrance of the temple, though the lack of walls made this more of a token gesture. Something within her was shouting to throw the book down and forget it ever existed—but if something was truly wrong with this book, then it was Yenna’s scholarly– no, moral duty to decipher its mysteries, and to prevent it from ending up in the wrong hands. She galloped outside to find Demvya, eager for the spirit’s guidance.

Jiin was standing not far away, running her hands along a stone bench. The easy-going smile and lack of glowing white eyes made it clear who was in control, and Yenna hoped the yolm wouldn’t mind giving up control for just a moment longer.

“These guys were bloody awful at carvin’,” Jiin laughed. “Even accountin’ fer ages o’ wear an’ tear, wind an’ rain an’ all that, they just grabbed whatever rock an’ said ‘that’ll do,’ haha!”

As if to accentuate her point, she slapped a hand onto the bench and laughed again. Yenna had to admit, it did look rather crude, like someone had barely smoothed away a slab of stone. It was a small village, so the chances of it having a quality stonesmith was rather unlikely– Yenna stopped and shook her head, focusing.

“Jiin, i-if you don’t mind,” Yenna felt a bit awkward asking, “Would it be possible that I could speak to Demvya? I need to ask them some questions.”

The yolm woman didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by her request. With a nod, she plonked herself down on the stone seat, closed her eyes and softly exhaled. If she were kesh, Yenna would have called Jiin rough, and Demvya fine—the woman appeared to shift rapidly from a slightly slouched young woman to a dignified noble spirit, ageless in her wisdom. Jiin’s back straightened, her expression became severe and dignified, even her sitting position changed from a relatively casual pose to a regal crossing of legs—at attention, even seated.

“THOU WOULDST ASK OF ME QUESTIONS? SPEAK, PRIEST.” Demvya wasted no time, though their head flicked down slightly to indicate they were looking at the book in Yenna’s hands. Quickly being brought up to speed regarding the events that had occured in the temple, the spirit was surprisingly passive about the description of events.

“Could you shed any more light into this incident?” Yenna had retrieved her journal, to record her thoughts even as she spoke them. “What is this book, and why did the priest seem so convinced it would be able to replace you?”

“I HAD THOUGHT MY DEMANDS TOO GREAT, THAT THE PEOPLE WOULD REFUSE ME. IT IS THEY WHO ASKED EVER MORE OF ME, AND I IN TURN REQUESTED FAIR RECOMPENSE—SUCH IS THE RIGHT OF ALL BEINGS.”

As Demvya delved into the unusually specific nature of requests back and forth, which to Yenna’s ears was as dull as a merchant’s trade agreement¹, the mage began to piece together what happened. The people of the valley seemed to be a reclusive sort, refusing to trade with or even speak to those beyond the valley walls—it would explain why Yenna had never heard of them, despite the relative proximity of this community. However, the valley itself was never a particularly good place to live. The stream flooded randomly and froze in winter, the soil was dry and barely fertile, and there was little room for cultivation or hunting. The people cried out for a saviour, and found their fervent prayers empowered a wandering spirit. The people of the valley named it after a goddess they worshipped, and Demvya was given a home and the status of a deity.

“YET IT WAS WITH REGULARITY THAT THE PRIESTS ASKED ME TO LESSEN MY DEMANDS—THOUGH THE PEOPLE OF THE VALLEY WANTED FOR NAUGHT UNDER MY BLESSING, THEY DESIRED EVER MORE. SO IT WAS THAT THEY SHUNNED ME, GENERATIONS HAVING COME AND GONE, HAVING FORGOTTEN WHAT IT WAS TO KNOW HUNGER, TO HAVE THE FAILURE OF CROPS. STILL, THIS DEVASTATION…” Demvya looked thoughtful for a moment, and Yenna noticed that the flowers that had sprouted in her hair were starting to wilt—was she running out of power herself?

Putting that thought aside, Yenna was still curious about the book. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to know—it wasn’t every day you found a mysterious book in a ruined town.

“Demvya, could I turn your attention back to this book? Do you know how to open it?” She held up the book, but felt reluctant to physically hand it over. Spirits could act a bit irrationally at times, and Yenna didn’t want to find this prize getting thrown into the stream or some such nonsense.

“THY HAND QUIVERS UNDER ITS WEIGHT.” Yenna looked down in surprise, steadying her arms—she was gripping the cover too tightly again. “THIS TOME HAS WICKED HOOKS IN PLACES THINE EYES CANNOT SEE. TIS A CRUEL THING TO GIVE A MORTAL. I SHALL PROTECT THEE FROM IT.”

Demvya put out a hand to take the book, and Yenna involuntarily took a step back. The irrational part of her mind was suddenly plagued with fear and doubt, and Yenna’s training kicked in to compartmentalise and analyse. The mage thought for a moment—what was she afraid of? Dipping her metaphorical toes back into the pool of thought, she realised it was fear of loss. Yenna was never a jealous kesh, happy to share her findings with her fellows, though she could think of a few student partners she was loath to loan books to. But this was rather stronger, as though it would be painful to hand it over. The irrationality of the thought made Yenna worry that this was an effect of the book itself. Without further thought, she made to hand it over.

As she reached out, her hand involuntarily clenched. The dam she had put up in her mind threatened to burst from the sheer weight of covetous desire—It was as if every technique she had for focusing had suddenly turned against her. Her curiosity wanted to crack it open right away, her thirst for knowledge was certain there was something of worth inside. How could she study it if it wasn’t with her?! Yenna’s hand trembled, the book held out halfway. Without a word, Demvya curtly snatched it away.

Yenna gasped in surprise and pain. It felt like she had been hooked on a thorny plant, and Demvya had crudely yanked it out. Looking over her hand, Yenna found it spotless.

“THOU ART STUNG BY ITS CLAWS. IT IS NOT SAFE FOR THEE, UNTIL THOU ART ABLE TO SEE ITS STING.” Demvya held the tome carefully in one hand, and plucked the last of the living flowers from her hair. Pressing its petals to the black cover, it dissolved into magical essence. In its place, several green stems lashed themselves about the book’s cover, another lock keeping it sealed. Yenna was still curious about its contents, but it felt dull—normal. It was no longer some bothersome itch that demanded scratching, just a pondering. Yenna knew better than to try and take it back, not until she was duly prepared.

With the mystery of the valley partially solved, and its dead laid to rest, the group decided to head back. It was getting late, and it didn’t seem like there was much more to do here. Still, Yenna took some small samples—dirt from different places, a little vial of the stream’s water, even one of the scarce weeds, roots and all.

“It’s possible there’s more to this place than just the stillness of the magic,” Yenna explained. “Perhaps there was always something wrong with the soil, and Demvya’s blessing just fixed it. Or something polluted the water, or possibly the blessing overtaxed—”

Demvya—no, Jiin was starting to look over. Yenna didn’t want to imply that this was the spirit’s fault, even if that was a possibility. It was known that one could use up all of a location’s magic by consuming it faster than it could naturally replenish, but a spirit would have a much greater understanding of magic’s flow being made of magic themselves. It was a slim possibility, and Yenna didn’t want to upset the spirit solely on the basis of such a low chance.

“Actually, I meant to ask,” Eone spoke up to fill the silence, “What are we to do with the spirit Demvya? We could probably lift their shrine back down into the valley—”

“Demvya’s gonna stay with me!” Jiin interrupted with a beaming smile, but suddenly became self-conscious. “Heh, sorry fer interruptin’.”

“What do you mean?” Yenna couldn’t help but pitch in now, her journal in hand.

“Well, um…Demvya’s worked real hard. An’ all they want is folks around that they can help, an’ they’re helpin’ me. An’ they want to help y’all with this book, but they think y’all are, ahem, too blinded by mortal eyes, or whatever t’hold it without gettin’ all weird.” Jiin scratched her cheek, suddenly looking quite bashful. “B’sides, makes me feel all warm an’ fuzzy havin’ someone close like this. Even if I’m not in control, when Demvya’s bein’ all confident an’ godly, it makes me feel like I’m the confident one!”

Yenna furiously took notes—it wasn’t unheard of for a spirit to reside inside someone, it was just never so…peacefully done. Not to her knowledge, at least. Narasanha had some choice grumbling on the matter, but her thoughts were mumbled quietly enough that Yenna wasn’t privy to them. Eone seemed shocked, but also supportive, suddenly skipping past Yenna to give Jiin a massive hug².

“You’re such a kind thing, Jiin. Your folks would be proud, y’know?” The remark seemed to put a soft, almost sad smile on Jiin’s face, but she quickly bounced back, especially when Eone turned them both to face Yenna. “Honestly, the lot of us wondered how long it’d take for Jiin to adopt something on the trip! She’d lop her own horn off for a walking stick if we didn’t stop her.”

“Geez! Y’don’t have ta say it like that, captain!” Jiin couldn’t help but laugh, and the feeling was infectious. All the way back up to the camp, Eone regaled Yenna with stories about Jiin’s selfless charity, from feeding local hungry cats—most of which turned out to be coming to her for seconds after their usual dinners—to the time she disappeared for a couple days to clean up a storm-devastated park, all because a local child’s crying face brought her that much distress.

The happy, jovial mood followed them out of the gloomy, stagnant valley. But Yenna’s eyes continued to wander to the book Jiin held at her side. Just what secrets were hidden within, that drove men of faith to cast aside their gods?

¹ - Yenna personally glosses over a lot of what Demvya says in her journal, though some contemporary accounts insist there was a version of the Almanac with full transcripts (or approximations there-of) of Demvya’s lists. Rumour has it the volumes were twice as thick, from the sheer weight of the spirit’s eagerness for specificity on the matter of tribute.

² - On another note from the original Almanac, Yenna furnishes us with a surprisingly detailed description of this particular hug. One might conclude she had been greatly moved by the touching scene, but this author believes she had simply not considered the logistics of a hug between two horned people like this.

An excerpt from Yenna Bookbinder’s The Travelling Mage’s Almanac:

“The captain duly threw herself into a warm embrace with the shorter woman, and for a moment I wondered if Jiin’s horn might not pierce her. Perhaps by instinct or practice, the pair of yolm seemed to move their heads to one side, the tips of their horns pointing outwards to avoid harm. It reminded me of kesh couples, walking side by side, embracing so that their lower bodies might be touching as they hugged. I thought it must be a blessing that the captain is so tall—were she to turn her head just so for an embrace with someone higher than her, that blade jutting from her forehead might become a danger to all involved.”